


Fond

by CozyRavioli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Animagus Harry Potter, Anniversary, Banter, Chastity Device, Clothed Sex, Cock Cages, Coming Untouched, Death Eater Harry Potter, Fluff, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Attend Hogwarts Together, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Murder Husbands, Not Beta Read, Possessive Tom Riddle, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smut, Teasing, not actually husbands but you know what I mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyRavioli/pseuds/CozyRavioli
Summary: Soon, they would be known as the most feared pair of wizards in the world. Their names would be shakily written in blood-soaked history books.For now, they’re just two besotted teenagers celebrating an anniversary as their graduating year draws to a close.OrA bizarre combination of fluff, angst, humour and smut as Tom and Harry celebrate their special day as only they can.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 12
Kudos: 713





	Fond

**Author's Note:**

> Tom and Harry are both 18 in this.
> 
> Parseltongue dialogue is written in bold.

Tom hadn’t noticed at first.

It would normally be enough to infuriate him, were he not so begrudgingly amused by the whole thing.

  
He had gone about his morning rituals the same way he always does; having neatly coifed his hair, straightened out any wrinkles in his robes and double-checked the contents of his satchel to make sure he wasn’t missing any materials for his classes.

In retrospect, it should have tipped Tom off that Harry was suspiciously absent from both the Slytherin dormitory and the common room, but Tom had merely assumed that he had woken up early and left it at that.

But Harry never wakes up early unless he’s up to something.

Tom only realizes his predicament once he’s halfway to potions class — once it’s far too late to do anything to stop these shenanigans from continuing.

There’s a telltale wriggling underneath his robes.

Tom pauses mid-stride in the dungeon corridor. He looks around first, to make sure nobody is watching and then experimentally gives his body a small shake.

Just as he suspected, tension coils all around his legs, arms and torso as his sneaky stowaway desperately grips onto his body underneath his robes.

**“…You absolute brat,”** Tom hisses underneath his breath.

Though it’s muffled by his clothing, a quiet, shaking hiss is heard in response to his insult that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

Tom feels the snake gradually worm its way up his body until its head pops out from underneath the front collar of his robes. Even after having seen this form so many times, Tom is still enamoured by the exotic beauty of its shining black scales and vibrant green eyes as the snake’s head twists and bobs around his face.

**“Brat? Me? That’s not very nice, Tom,”** the snake hisses, flicking its forked tongue against his cheek.

Tom grabs the snake by its ‘neck’, hand gripped just underneath its head with his thumb pressed under its jawbone, to force it to stay still while he scolds it.

**“I think ‘brat’ suits you quite well, actually. Do you intend to cling onto me the entire day? How am I meant to excuse your absence in class?”**

Unable to move otherwise, the snake merely rolls its eyes before hissing in response. **“We’re graduating in less than two weeks. All the seventh years have been skiving off constantly and nobody has cared. Just tell the professors that I’m sick. I have been feeling a little hot under the collar lately…”**

Following this leading remark, the snake attempts to rub its tail meaningfully against the crotch of Tom’s trousers, but Tom smacks the tail away and shoves the snake back into his robes, ignoring its indignant yelp.

**“If you insist on hiding under there, I’ll expect you to behave yourself. And I’ve told you countless times not to engage me in…in amorous activities when you’re transformed. I’m not keen on bestiality, if you haven’t noticed.”**

**“‘Amorous activities’ he says. Is that what you call it?”** The snake scoffs. **“Such a stuffy dark lor—MMPH.”**

The snake is finally, blissfully, silenced as Tom’s hand clamps tightly around its mouth.

Even though he knows he’ll likely be paying for it later, he can’t help but grin at the frustrated mumbling coming from the bratty animagus as he makes his way to class.

***********

Payback comes sooner than anticipated.

Potions class starts off well enough. As expected, Professor Slughorn immediately questions Tom about Harry’s absence.

“Tom! Do you have any idea where Mr Potter is?”

“Unfortunately, Harry’s feeling a bit under the weather, sir. He won’t be attending classes today.”

“Ah! Well, we can’t have that, can we? With the year coming to an end it just won’t do to have one of my star pupils missing! I’ll just pop on down to the hospital wing and give him one of my specially-brewed pepper-up potions and—“

Tom holds out his arm to block Slughorn’s passage as the professor attempts to leave the classroom. From anyone else, it would seem disrespectful to deny a teacher anything, but Tom is a master of appearing deferential while simultaneously getting what he wants.

“It’s very thoughtful of you to offer, sir, but Harry isn’t in the hospital wing.”

Slughorn looks suitably confused, but steps back regardless. “Beg pardon, Tom?”

“It’s just that…Well, I hope you won’t think ill of me for saying so professor, but Madam Pomfrey isn’t quite up to your standards, is she?”

“Now Tom, I can’t abide you disrespecting members of the Hogwarts facul—Wait, ‘my standards’ you say?” Slughorn’s moustaches twitches inquisitively.

“Please don’t misunderstand me, professor! Madam Pomfrey is a perfectly capable healer, but the potions you’ve taught us how to brew truly go above and beyond expectation. As soon as I noticed that Harry had come down with something, I immediately concocted my own potion to quicken his recovery. And, seeing as I followed your instructions to a T, I’ve no doubt he’ll be right as rain soon enough.” Tom added on a simpering grin for good measure, with just the right amount of ‘adoration’ in his eyes.

Predictably, Slughorn’s cheeks heat up, flattered, and it takes all of Tom’s self-control not to laugh at the old fool.

Slughorn beams and claps Tom on the shoulder as he addresses the class. “Do you all see that? A perfect example of Slytherin fraternity! One student, helping a dear friend out of the goodness of his heart! Twenty points to Slytherin!”

Like clockwork, the Gryffindors all groan in unison. Tom is about to shoot them all one of his usual polite grins to rile them up further when he hears a snickering come from his robes.

**“Did you hear that, Tom? ‘Slytherin fraternity?’ He thinks we’re like brothers, does he? Wonder how he’d have reacted if he walked in on you splitting me open last ni—“**

Tom nudges his elbow into the snake’s body, hard, to shut him up. Unfortunately, this causes the snake to flinch and fall out the bottom of Tom’s robes.

He’s about to scoop his irritating ‘pet’ back into the safety of his cloak when, of course, its spotted by one of the rowdy Gryffindors.

“Snake! Snake! Professor, Riddle’s brought a snake with him!”

For all that the Gryffindors claim that Slytherins are petty and spineless — without fail, Gryffindors are _always_ the first to tattle to the teachers.

At least Slytherin deals with their grudges in private. Or if they do need to dress someone down publicly they do so by talking shit right to their face, or challenging them to a duel.

Tom has learned that there is one constant among the poor and the rich, or wizards and muggles alike, and it’s that nobody respects a rat. Have some backbone, honestly.

Tom turns to face the shouting Gryffindor with a pitying glance. He might not have remembered the boys name, were it not for his bright red hair and gormless expression. Prewett. It would be prewett, wouldn’t it?

Tom muses that he’s very much looking forward to wiping out that entire line of snivelling blood-traitors once his Knights have properly established themselves.

Still, best not to give the little shit the satisfaction in the meantime. Tom nods politely at Prewett, and lifts the snake up onto his desk.

Despite the situation, he is privately entertained by the sound of dozens of chairs quietly scraping along the floor as the herd of Gryffindors discreetly scoot away from the snake.

House of the brave, indeed.

His amusement is cut short when Slughorn shuffles back over to Tom, looking all sorts of apprehensive.

“Now, Tom…You know as well as I do that students are not permitted to keep snakes as pets. And you’ve brought it with you to class to boot…I’m afraid I’ll need to dock some points from Slytherin.”

Prewett leans back in his chair, smug expression firmly in place. Now, that just won’t do.

Seemingly abashed and apologetic, Tom glances up at Slughorn with his shoulders slumped.

“I apologize, professor. I wanted it to be a surprise…”

“A surprise? Sur-Surprise for whom?”

“You recognize the breed of snake, don’t you, sir?”

Slughorn adjusts his spectacles and, upon closer inspection of the docile creature, takes a long step backwards.

“My word, Tom! Why, yes! That’s a black mamba! Terribly hard to come by, especially in wizarding Britain…But, oh, that’s even worse, Mr Riddle! A black mamba’s bite is terribly dangerous!”

“I assure you that the snake is very well trained, as you can see. It hasn’t bitten anyone, ever. I don’t normally keep him in the castle. You see, he was a gift from an associate of mine…”

“That’s all well and good, Tom but as a professor I simply can not allow you to—“

“I wanted to give you some of its venom,” Tom interjects, finally making Slughorn halt in his objections.

“…Its venom, you say?”

Prewett throws his hands up in the air, knowing that he’s lost. “You’ve got to be kidding me...”

Tom ignores his protests and continues to lay it on thick. “The black mamba is native to Africa, sir. As you know, its venom is highly sought after for its many uses in rare potions. With our graduation on the horizon, I thought that a phial of its venom would serve as a suitable gift for you — to show you my appreciation for all of your wonderful teaching and mentorship these past seven years.”

All of the fight has left Slughorn now and he is know looking at Tom with grateful tears welling up in his eyes. “Oh, Tom…Such a thoughtful young man. You always have been!”

Tom shrugs, the very image of embarrassed innocence. “I only wish it could have been a surprise, sir. I was going to let you extract the venom after class so that it could be bottled fresh, but..”

Turning back around to face Prewett, Slughorn frowns and wags his finger at the freckled, ginger mutt. “There’s no need to spoil a good-natured surprise because of petty house rivalries, Mr Prewett! Ten points from Gryffindor, for your tactlessness!”

Prewett looks livid, but wisely clenches his jaw shut and looks down at his desk, knowing that arguing the point would only result in his house losing even more points.

Clapping his hands, Slughorn returns to the front of the class with a great toothy grin. “Back to it, then! Oh, and Tom? Do mind the snake, would you? The gesture is greatly appreciated, just please keep a closer eye on it!”

Nodding indulgently, Tom waits for Slughorn to look away before flicking said serpent in the back of its head, earning him a quiet hiss in response.

**“Ow!”**

**“Serves you right. You almost blemished my perfect record in the last month of my Hogwarts career.”**

The snake squirms and coils his way back under Tom’s robes, resting his head on Tom’s clavicle. **“Still, you’re going to let him milk my fangs? You know how much that hurts…”**

**“Be grateful I didn’t offer him your skin, darling.”**

Tom feels the snake gulp against his chest.

***********

Several hours later, Tom marches his way back to his private room, the room afforded to him for being head boy located in the back of the Slytherin dorms.

Without preamble, Tom unceremoniously dumps the snake on his bed. The snake has the gall to take offence to this.

**“Watch it! What’s with you today?”**

**“You know full well what’s wrong with me. You’ve been hanging onto me like a little parasite for hours. Change back.”**

**“And what if I don’t want to?”** The snake flicks its tail, petulantly.

**“You can change back on your own, or I can do it for you. And you’ve told me how unpleasant that feels.”** Tom crosses his arms and waits.

The snake seems to take a moment to think on this, before sighing and transforming in a wild blur of colours.

Tom’s heart almost stops.

Where the snake had previously been laying down, there now rests the familiar form of Harry Potter, Tom’s childhood friend, second-in-command and romantic partner of precisely one year, today.

Except…Harry is naked. Completely naked.

Well, almost completely naked.

It’s not exactly an article of clothing per se, but rather a…device. A specific device that Tom had taken an interest in — an interest which Harry was agreeable enough to indulge in on rare occasions.

The muggles call it a ‘chastity device.’ A small metal ‘cage’ that people can wear on their genitals in order to prevent any sexual stimulation from occurring.

In short, sometimes Harry lets Tom lock his cock up and the sense of control it gives him is…Tom’s knees almost buckle whenever he sees Harry wearing it.

It doesn’t help that the cage has ‘T.M.R’ initialed in cursive letters on its surface, effectively marking Harry’s body as his, preventing Harry from orgasming without his permission. Hell, Harry can’t even get hard unless Tom lets him first.

It’s a heady, all-consuming feeling and Tom is almost crippled by the arousal he feels as he stares down at his nude lover, sprawled across his mattress.

He tries to clear his throat, but when he speaks his voice is still tellingly raspy. “You’re—You’re wearing it.”

“Don’t really have a choice, do I? You have the key…my lord,” Harry tries to look smug, but his own arousal is belied by the flush spreading across his face and chest.

Tom’s last shred of restraint dies when he realizes something else—

Harry was naked when he transformed back into his human form. That means…

Tom hastily clambers onto the surface of the bed, orienting himself between Harry’s thighs and pressing bruising kisses against Harry’s neck.

“You weren’t wearing anything,” Tom speaks against Harry’s pulse. “All day, you were wrapped around me, wearing nothing at all.”

Harry shivers and grips onto Tom’s shoulders tightly as he allows himself to be ravaged. “I—I undressed before I transformed and waited under your bed while you slept,” Harry presses a few of his own kisses into the crown of Tom’s head, mussing up his neat hair in the process. “Snuck up your pant-leg while you were heading out.”

Precum begin’s leaking out of Harry’s cage as Tom forcefully grinds his clothed cock against the cleft of Harry’s arse.

As Harry begins to moan and Tom’s breath grows heavier, Tom removes his wand from his sleeve and briefly contemplates casting a silencing charm for the sake of those in the dormitory just down the hall, but ultimately decides against it.

Let them hear it.

They’re Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. If the whole world had to listen to Harry begging for his cock, he’d tell all seven billion of them to shut up and deal with it.

Instead, Tom traces the tip of his wand against Harry’s chest, his ribs, his abdomen, before the trail he draws inevitably ends up at Harry’s weeping, caged prick.

He taps his wand against the steel, causing Harry to shudder and thrust up into the air, impotently reaching for release that he hasn’t been allowed yet.

**“And what would you have done if I had transformed you out of your animagus form while we were out and about? Maybe in the hallway? Or the great hall?”** Tom hisses. It’s easy, how they both slip back into parseltongue in these intimate moments. Natural.

Tom lets Harry consider that. He lets Harry writhe against him as he no doubt imagines himself being publicly exposed in such a fashion.

**“What if I did it in potions class? When you were propped up on that desk, with everyone watching? I could have reversed the spell in front of all our peers and your entire reputation would be ruined. You’d have gone from a nearly universally respected student to a wanton whore with his cute little cock locked up. Just like that.”**

A choked gasp escapes Harry’s lips before his entire body convulses. His back arches off of the mattress and a thick stream of cum drips from Harry’s cage.

Immediately afterwards, Harry turns bright red and attempts to hide his face in Tom’s shoulder. Naturally, Tom decides to torture him just a bit more by grabbing Harry by the hair and forcing eye contact.

“You finished. Cage and all…First time that’s happened. Just from me rubbing up against you and telling you how filthy you are.”

Harry flips the two of them over, so that he’s straddling Tom’s narrow hips. “At least I didn’t cum in my pants like some doe-eyed virgin.”

Just as Tom’s about to ask Harry what on earth he’s talking about, he notices a telling sensation in the front of his trousers. Looking down, he notices a steadily growing wet patch in his crotch.

“Ah.”

“Honestly, Tom. You’re the only bloke I know who could be oblivious to the fact that he just orgasmed.” Harry smacks Tom lightly on his chest before rolling off of him and grabbing his own wand to clean himself off.

Tom sits up to watch him, scowling. “Forgive me for being distracted at the time. You should consider yourself fortunate that you have a partner who would forsake his own pleasure to focus on yours.”

“As if. You just get off on belittling me is all. Must be cathartic for you to feel as if you’re overpowering me when I’m getting higher marks than you in half of our classes,” Harry snorts and crosses his arms, looking down at his sulking boyfriend.

“You needn’t concern yourself with how I ‘get off.’ You’re in no position to judge me. Evidently, you’re something of an exhibitionist. Perhaps next time you pull a stunt like you did today I really will leave you naked in front of everyone.”

Harry sits back down on Tom’s lap, despite his half-hearted protests. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“You sound awfully confident,” Tom scowls, bristling at the condescending look on his lovers face.

Harry loops his arms around Tom’s neck and rests their foreheads together, laughing inwardly at Tom’s scrunched up eyebrows. “You wouldn’t because I’m an unregistered animagus, and if you revealed that to everyone I’d end up in Azkaban and that would ruin all of our careful planning.”

Tom grunts, but pulls Harry a bit closer despite himself. Harry responds with a soft kiss against Tom’s temple.

“That, and I think you’d be more angry about others seeing me naked than I would.”

At this, Tom growls and pulls Harry flush against him. Harry sighs into the bone-crushing embrace. “Why do I get the impression that you’re more upset about the idea of people seeing my arse than me getting sentenced to life in prison?”

“I can just break you out of Azkaban. I can’t make people un-see your arse,” Tom grumbles into Harry’s neck.

“You could obliviate them?”

“It’s not a matter of them remembering! No one other than me is permitted to ever see your arse to begin with!”

“Whatever you say, ‘my lord’” Harry pinches Tom’s cheek briefly, before his hand is swatted away.

“You know, you don’t have to say it so sarcastically every time. I’ll have you know that I AM your lord. You should start acting like it,” Tom grumbles.

Harry gestures down at his crotch, disbelievingly. “Is this not submissive enough for you? What, do you want to lead me around on a leash next?”

“…Well—“

“No.”

Tom sighs but acquiesces that that particular fantasy might be going a bit far.

Maybe a collar though…Something to revisit at a later date. For now, Tom’s attention is drawn back to the chastity device still fastened securely around Harry’s cock.

“You’re…wearing it. Normally it takes some convincing for you to wear it.” Tom vaguely gestures to Harry’s crotch as he says this.

For a brief moment, Harry looks…unsure. Shy. But the look disappears once he locks eyes with Tom once more. “Well…you get quite a kick out of it. And I…Maybe I don’t HATE it, so…”

Tom recognizes the rare showing of vulnerability for what it is, and gently cups Harry’s cheek. “I do. I enjoy it very much. Thank you for doing this for me.”

Harry flushes and demurs to him. “Yeah, well…it is a special occasion after all.”

Sensing an opportunity for some light ribbing, Tom puts on a suitably confused expression. “Special occasion?”

Hurt flashes in Harry’s moss-coloured eyes before he notices Tom’s smug little knowing grin and swats him on his shoulder. “Rotten prick.”

“Happy anniversary to you as well, dear,” Tom snorts, rubbing at the spot Harry had struck.

Harry half-buries his face in Tom’s shirt, cheeky half-lidded eyes peering up at him. “Did you get me anything?”

Tom tugs at the wild strands of Harry’s hair. “‘Did you get me anything?’ Listen to yourself. I’ve spoiled you.”

Not unlike his animagus form, Harry slowly slithers his way up Tom’s body until they’re nose to nose. “I only ask because I’ve gotten you something. But by all means, don’t give me anything in return. I’ll be sure to let everyone know who the better boyfriend is.”

Not one to be outdone, Tom gently nips at Harry’s lower lip and slides his hands up and down Harry’s sides, before settling them on his lower back, with his thumbs rubbing at the adorable little dimples above his pert arse.

“Rest assured, I’ve quite the gift prepared for you,” Tom mumbles, licking into Harry’s willing mouth.

Just as Tom is certain that Harry is going to succumb to his continued ministrations, Harry jolts up from the bed and quickly tosses on some clothing.

“Right! Well, see you at the astronomy tower! Midnight, yeah? Don’t be late,” Harry shrugs on his school robes.

Tom gapes at him confusedly with glistening, kissed-raw lips and sex-mussed hair. “You—You’re leaving?”

“Yep.”

“We can’t go to the astronomy tower past curfew! I’m head boy and I’m not scheduled to patrol the castle tonight!”

Halfway out the bedroom door, Harry turns back towards Tom to fix him with an incredulous stare. “Do you genuinely care if we break school rules at this point?”

“Yes!”

“Tom, we’re plotting to take control of the wizarding world. We’ve killed people. We’ll continue to kill more — many more! And you’ve got a stick up your arse because I want you to break curfew?”

“…Yes.”

“I’ll see you there, Tom,” Harry scoffs as he breezes out towards the common room.

…

“Ten points from Slytherin,” Tom whispers to the empty room.

***********

As Harry marches across the castle grounds, he keeps his body language open and friendly.

Students from all grades and all houses smile and greet him as he passes, which he happily reciprocates.

An adorable little first year Hufflepuff girl with a chubby face absolutely riddled with a precious smattering of freckles asks him for directions.

He goes the extra mile by leading her where she needs to go himself and she beams up at him when she thanks him sincerely for his help.

In their brief conversation, Harry also discovers that the little girl, Maeve, is a mudblood, which means that Harry will likely be killing her within the next few years. If not by his own hand, then at least indirectly.

Shame, that.

Harry smiles back at her as she waves goodbye and joins her friends.

As Harry turns around to continue on his trek to the astronomy tower, he almost bumps directly into the figure that had apparently been looming behind him.

“Oh, hello, Professor! Pardon me, I didn’t see you there!”

Albus Dumbledore smiles at him, kindly. Genuinely kindly, as well. Even with their…extensive history, Dumbledore never seemed to harbour any genuine animosity towards him. Not like his thinly-veiled dislike of Tom.

Harry’s not sure if he’ll ever understand the man.

“No, I apologize, Mr Potter. I should have alerted you of my presence sooner.”

“No harm done, sir.” Harry politely waits a full five seconds before taking the opportunity to disengage from the awkward encounter. “Well, I’d best be on my way, then. Curfew’s coming up and I don’t want to lose any house points! With it being my last year I’m really pulling for Slytherin to win the cup!”

Harry doesn’t care about the ruddy cup, but Dumbledore seems to eat up the ‘friendly competition’ thing, so it seems like a reasonable angle to take.

Dumbledore chuckles knowingly and lets him pass by. “Of course, of course.”

Harry only manages to walk about half a metre before Dumbledore calls out to him.

“Mr Pott—Harry?”

When Harry turns back around, Dumbledore fixes him with an intense stare. Not intimidating, not overpowering. Just…honest. For maybe the first time since Harry met him.

Harry straightens up and meets his gaze head-on. “Sir?”

“…”

“…”

“I confess, Harry, that with the war against Grindelwald coming to an end, I’ve grown…concerned for you and your fellow seventh years. Being forced to venture out into a world torn apart by war, struggling to piece it back together, all while trying to discover where you want your own life to take you.”

It seems like a well-meaning query, but—

“Pardon me, professor, but I’m not exactly sure what it is that you’re asking me,” Harry offers with what he hopes is a disarming smile.

Dumbledore inches just a little bit closer.

“Is there…anything you’d like to tell me, Harry? Anything at all?”

Oh.

They’re really doing this now, then?

Harry also moves a smidge closer while he ponders how exactly to respond to this.

“…We hear things in Slytherin, sir. More than most. Of course, this isn’t news to you.”

Dumbledore nods his head in acknowledgement, allowing Harry to continue.

“There’s a story going around the common room…I’m not sure how much of it is true, but it makes for an interesting tale either way.

Rumour is, that in his youth, Grindelwald had a partner. A partner in all senses of the word—romantically and professionally.”

If Dumbledore is catching on to what Harry is alluding to, which he almost certainly is, he doesn’t let it show on his face and Harry admires the man for that.

“Anyway, they split up in the end, supposedly. And now look at Grindelwald! His cause has been decisively thwarted and he’s been locked up, never to see the light of day again. All thanks to you of course, professor.”

“Well, thank you Harry, but it wasn’t easy. He was a truly formidable opponent,” Dumbledore chuckles, easy as ever.

“Right…Well, I guess I just don’t know what to make of it — The story with Grindelwald’s lover, I mean. What do you suppose the moral of the story is?”

Dumbledore manages to surprise Harry, when he gently lays his hand on Harry’s shoulder and looks at him imploringly. “The moral, I believe, is that sometimes it’s our duty to go against the ones we love, if we know for a fact that it’s the right thing to do.”

Ah.

See, now that makes Harry a bit angry.

As politely as possible, Harry shrugs the hand off. “…Then again, you have to wonder — what if they’d stayed together?”

“…Harry.”

“What might they have accomplished, had Grindelwald’s mystery-partner not abandoned him? Maybe, in a roundabout way, the moral of the story is that we should stay loyal to our loved ones.”

“Some people aren’t capable of love, I’ve found.”

Harry doesn’t dignify that with a response. He glares back at Dumbledore’s mildly distressed visage.

“I apologize if this conversation has upset you, Harry. That truly wasn’t my intention…If you’re amenable, I’d like to share with you my deepest, most sincere fear.”

Harry says nothing, yet Albus presses on regardless.

“My one true terror—my most frequent nightmare that lurks deep in my heart is that one day I might be forced to knowingly, purposely bring harm to one of my pupils. That somehow, somewhere along their path in life, their outlook will become so warped and twisted that my only recourse will be to end their lives.”

Harry says nothing. Dumbledore has tears gathering in the bottom of his eyelashes.

“Above all other horrors this world has to offer, the one I dread the most is that one day I might be forced to kill one of my children.”

Harry wants to scream. He wants to tear this presumptuous old man to bits for imposing himself onto Harry.

Instead, Harry puts on his most polite smile.

“Don’t worry. You won’t.”

_‘Because we’ll kill you first’_ goes unsaid.

Harry turns the corner and Dumbledore bows his head.

***********

_‘Some people aren’t capable of love, I’ve found.’_

The nerve.

As if he could ever understand what they have. As if that bleeding heart of his could ever put it to words.

Harry is in a sour mood, sitting atop the edge of the astronomy tower when Tom finally joins him.

Sensing his partner’s change in temperament, Tom quietly takes his seat beside Harry and looks over the castle grounds far below as he waits for Harry to say something.

Harry wants to force Tom to say it. He wants to pry open his ribs, so that he can personally look upon his heart. So that Harry can see with his own eyes what he knows to be true.

_Tom loves him._

He has to. He just doesn’t know how to process it, or how to express it.

Harry is shaken from these harmful thoughts by the cause of them himself, as Tom drapes a comforting arm around his shoulder and tugs him closer, allowing Harry to nestle himself into Tom’s side.

_He has to._

Harry forces himself to shake the doubt from his mind. Today is meant to be a special day and he won’t let Dumbledore steal that from them.

He’s just about to pull Tom down for a kiss when Tom, tactless as ever, noses at his cheek. “Give me my gift now.”

Harry huffs out an incredulous chuckle. “What’s the magic word?”

“Now.”

And Tom truly MUST love him, because when Harry shoves him over for being a prick, he only receives a mild stinging hex in return, whereas most of Tom’s followers would be seizing from the effects of the cruciatus curse by now.

Once they’ve tired each other out with their play-fighting and the tower walls are littered with burns from stray hexes and curses, Harry nuzzles close to Tom and whispers in his ear.

“I’ve made a new spell for you.”

This clearly strikes Tom’s interest as he begins peppering Harry’s jawline with sweet little kisses. “Great minds think alike. My gift also involves a spell of my own making.”

The two of them had taken up spellcrafting at a young age. In the beginning they couldn’t manage much. At most they could alter existing spells, like increasing the speed with which ‘accio’ would summon items.

But over the years, having shared the mutual hobby and studied together, they were able to master the craft with their shared intellect — a testament to their joined potential.

_He HAS to love Harry!_

Harry is broken from his reverie when Tom finally connects their mouths and sensually, tenderly glides their lips together.

If Harry wasn’t so proud, he’d cry. He’d weep over how much his chest aches with the overwhelming love he feels for this horrible man.

This horrible, terrible man who understands Harry like nobody else ever could.

“Show me,” Tom whispers.

Right. The spell.

Harry feels the familiar burn flood through his veins. He wants his spell to be more impressive than Tom’s— he wants to beat him.

But he also wants Tom to feel proud of him—for Tom to look upon him with one of those rare, unguarded expressions of admiration.

Harry jumps off the astronomy tower.

Tom bellows—SHRIEKS in abject fear when Harry jumps and Harry tries his hardest not to feel gratified by it.

Tom would miss him if he died. He loves Harry.

_He HAS to. It’s the only way this all makes sense!_

Just before Harry hits the ground, his body bursts into a cloud of black smoke and he shoots all the way back up the tower.

Harry flies right past Tom’s fear-stricken visage and makes a big show of performing several loops and twists in the air before whooshing safely back to the landing of the astronomy tower.

Two things happen in quick succession;

Tom Riddle slaps the ever-loving shit out of Harry Potter,

And then immediately, desperately kisses it all better.

Harry gets lost in the sensory overload of it all; the familiar, wild glee he always feels when he flies, the lingering sadness from his altercation with Dumbledore earlier, the lust from Tom’s desperate, overpowering kiss. It’s all too much, and he—

“DON’T DO THAT!”

Harry’s ears are ringing. Tom doesn’t usually shout, he feels like it’s beneath him.

“You don’t FUCKING do that without WARNING ME!”

Tom hand’s are shaking. Harry absently realizes that he has, in fact, started crying, which is horribly embarrassing.

It takes a few moments but Tom’s fury fades to a dull simmer, just beneath the surface. He’s also wiping Harry’s tears away with the pads of his thumbs, so maybe the crying bit had turned out to be in his favour after all.

“What is the matter with you? Do you think it’s funny to scare me like that?!” Tom tries to look Harry in the eyes, but Harry stubbornly stares at their feet.

“Had a run-in with Dumbledore. It—It put me off. I’m not thinking straight. I just—I wanted to impress you…I’m sorry, Tom.”

There’s another tense silence before, finally, Tom lets out a soft sigh and tilts Harry’s chin up. Harry is relieved to see that a small amount of mirth has returned to Tom’s striking grey eyes.

“So…you can fly.”

Harry is suddenly overcome with an alien shyness that he isn’t especially familiar with. Harry Potter isn’t a shy man. But he’s feeling more raw and open than he usually allows himself to be and Tom Riddle is looking at him like he’s worth something.

“Yeah…I know you hate riding on brooms…but even you can’t deny the tactical benefits of flying, say, during a duel…or to escape anti-apparition wards. Plus, if we keep it secret — just you, me and the rest of the boys…Well, it’ll be a big advantage against our enemies, right?”

Tom gives Harry a light admonishing flick on the tip of his nose. “I told you to stop calling them ‘the boys.’ They’re ‘The Knights of Walpurgis’ and you’ll address them as such. We’re taking over the world, not going on a pub crawl.”

Harry can’t help but titter at his lovers prickly attitude, his good humour returning to him. “That’s another reason I figured you’d enjoy unassisted flight. It’s scary looking and needlessly dramatic, just like you.”

He half expects another stinging hex for his playful rib, but instead Tom gives him a light kiss on his brow and rubs at his cheekbones.

“People have been trying to fly without brooms for centuries, and you go and figure it out in under seven years just for my sake. You truly are something else, Harry Potter.”

And oh, Tom never speaks with that tone of voice. Not even when he’s sucking up to someone to win them over. Harry feels his face heat up to a dangerous degree, and he’s almost worried that his skin will start steaming soon.

Wanting very much to not discuss his beet-red face, Harry pointedly clears his throat and looks at Tom expectingly. “Where’s my gift then? Lets see it.”

Tom looks as if he wants nothing more than to tease Harry further for his bashful behaviour, but wisely decides against it given Harry’s precarious emotional state.

“Hold out your arm,” Tom orders, and how could Harry ever say no?

Harry’s arm is held firmly in place as Tom presses the tip of his lengthy yew wand against the pulse of Harry’s wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

_‘I LOVE you,’_ Harry wants to say, but he settles for a simple “yes” instead.

Having gained Harry’s consent, waves of Tom’s dark, intoxicating magic thrum through the veins of Harry’s arm.

A pitch, tar-like substance creeps and crawls over his forearm, before finally settling into his skin, in the shape of a skull, with a snake slithering through its socket.

When Harry looks up, Harry expects Tom to look smug and gleeful now that he’s been ‘marked,’ given how possessive Tom can be, but he surprises Harry yet again by peering at him uncertainly.

“Do you…like it?”

_‘I love it. I love you.’_

“It’s beautiful…Thank you, Tom.”

Tom’s bright smile is worth all of Harry’s internal strife.

“Good. It will serve us well as a means to mark our followers then.”

Harry tries.

He really, really tries not to let his disappointment show, but Tom must be able to see it.

“What is it?”

“I just—No, it’s nothing. It’s fine—“

“What. Is. It. Harry?”

“I…I liked the idea of only me having it. It made me feel like, I don’t know…it made me feel like I was yours.”

Harry can’t look at Tom. The shame is too great. Tom is disappointed with him, no doubt. Disappointed that Harry let something like love muddy what they had going, but Harry can’t help it.

“I like being yours. It makes me happy.”

He waits for it, but there’s no cruel laughter. No biting remarks.

Tom is just looking at Harry as if he could never tire of the sight of him.

“You know me, Harry. You know what I am.”

“Yes.”

  
“But you clearly don’t know me well enough, because you should know by now that—that I’ve grown fond of you.”

Harry’s eyes shoot up at that soft proclamation. Tom and Harry have both learned to read between each others lines over their years together—to hear what they can’t bring themselves to speak aloud.

_‘I’ve grown fond of you.’_

_‘I love you.’_

It’s not fair.

It’s not fair to the rest of the world that such deplorable, hateful fiends like them could somehow manage to find love in one another.

It isn’t fair at all and that makes it so much sweeter.


End file.
